Sunday, July 18, 2010

DREAMWHERE

You walked all night to beat the cold
so now you drowse on a sunlit bit of sidewalk
legs sprawled, head lolling on your knapsack
backed against a facade of patterned tile
from Mexico.

Your eyesballs move behind your eyelids
but your face is slack and inward turning.
Surely your dream is not here on the avenue,
hassled by corporate cops, muttered at
by passers-by who must detour around you
as they scan store windows for a way
to spend their money.

Where do you dream?

Do you toss a football to the brother lost in 'Nam'
Weave a mysterious plot that's fraught
with dream significance?
Walk a shaded path you know but can't say where?

Will you remember when you're wakened
by the grip on your shoulder
and the order to move on?

No. Dreams like that escape like noonday ghosts

You stumble to your feet,
grit grinding where your elbows met the sidewalk,
limbs still leaden with fatigue
mind struggling to retain the dream
where lost loves linger—
even your own lost self.
Phyllis Sterling Smith

11 comments:

Giggles said...

Oh Phyllis this is so sad yet touching. The last sentence evoked
chills in the heat of summer! You tell it well. I guess this is so!

I often wonder about those lingering on the street in search of solace. Wondering the troubles they've encountered. Knowing they are many! Reminds me of the book " A thousands Dreams" about the downtown eastside of Vancouver. Profound book!

Very well written Granny, thanks for sharing!


Big Hugs Sherrie

Old Egg said...

What a stark reminder of humanity at it's lowest ebb is still humanity and we should relate to and care for those who have lost their way.

Wonderful piece.

anthonynorth said...

Poignant and so beautifully expressed.

flaubert said...

Poignant piece I love it!
Pamela

marianne said...

This is so lovely, an invitation to empathy. Thanks for sharing.

http://youareuseless.wordpress.com

Dee Martin said...

I could see this person as I was reading. This was too real for it not to be an actual memory.

www.retiredandcrazy.com said...

Thought povoking, just like "The Touch of the Master's Hand" by Myra 'Brooks' Welch.

mrsnesbitt said...

Hi Phyllis, you OK? Missed you in ABC Wednesday - check your e-mail as I have invited you Dx

photowannabe said...

This is so powerful. Thank you for sharing.
It makes me feel sad but its beautiful at the same time.
I'm glad you are back in the blogging world again.

Annelie said...

What a beautiful poem Granny....


Annelie E, ABC Wednesday Team

Jay said...

Oh, how moving! We all skirt around those poor lost souls to gaze into the windows, don't we? But if you stop and talk, most of them are just people like us, though down on their luck.

Of course there are the professional beggars too, but you can usually spot them. I remember talking to one guy about his dog, and he said he'd just moved a hundred miles from his hometown because he'd snatched the dog from someone who was mistreating her and he was afraid of reprisals. He sure had a kind heart.